Admiral's Mast
by McRose
Summary: How Do you Sum Up a Man's Career, Anyway? The Concluding Part is Up! The story takes place approximately 1 month after the Season 10 finale, a little over a year after RADM Chegwidden's retirementDining Out.
1. Chapter 1

This is the second "outing" of the recently formed writing team of highplainswoman and janlaw. A/N3 following "Dining Out" contains information about us. This piece can be considered either a follow-on to "Dining Out" or a stand-alone story.

We gratefully acknowledge TomCatGM's assistance. She did a magnificent job bringing out issues and clarifying the confusing parts of this piece.

Admiral's Mast/Captain's Mast is the Navy term for non-judicial punishment under Article 15, UCMJ. It is commonly known as "Office Hours" in the Marine Corps and the Army. A different type of Mast is "Request Mast," which occurs when a Sailor or officer requests a personal meeting with his or her Commanding Officer. The purpose is usually to make a request or discuss a matter of concern to the service member. Many commands are run far more formally than our beloved JAG HQ ever was, where A.J. permitted (maybe "suffered" is the better term smirk) easy access to his inner sanctum. One can think of the meeting that's the forum for this story as a type of "Request Mast."

Spoilers: References are made to various specific episodes from the ten seasons. Be interesting to see how many people catch the specific references. (If anyone wants to regard that as a challenge, be our guest! LOL)

"**_Admiral's Mast"_**

_How Do You Sum Up a Man's Career, Anyway_

Part I—The Aviator

2000/8:00 p.m.)

The Vietnam Memorial Wall

Approximately one month after Harm/Mac's transfer/promotion

Retired Rear Admiral Tom Boone stood quietly and reverently in front of a specific name on The Wall, lost in thought. Actually, he was having a conversation within the walls of his mind with his friend, Harmon "Hammer" Rabb, Sr., about his son, Harmon Rabb Jr.

Well, ol' buddy. What do you think of your son, now? Made Captain, transferred to London as Staff JAG for Naval Forces Europe, no less—an accomplishment of no mean degree. And finally getting married to that spitfire of a Marine. Tom winced. He respected Colonel MacKenzie—he just wasn't sure he liked her, and he was very unsure as to whether she was truly the woman for Harm. Harm certainly didn't seem to have any doubts, however, so he had kept his opinion to himself. He mused—women certainly flocked to Harm to such an extent that he thought Harm was tripping over too many women in his life at times. They were almost all very strong, successful women in and of their own right. Tom grinned to himself: no "wimpy women" for that Naval aviator! He had classic good looks; certainly a draw, but there was more to it than that. Harm just plain liked women as people—and women instinctively felt that and showed their appreciation by becoming, not sexual objects, but friends—friends with undying and uncommon loyalty. Harm's genuine affection for Harriet Sims amply demonstrated Harm's genuine attitude towards women in general. Tom felt a momentary flash of "old age" at that thought—Harm was part of the "new generation," the generation of the '60's that thoroughly trashed the notion men and women could not be merely "friends"—and Tom had to admit, there was something to be said for that thought. Even at his age, he perceived a "richness" to Harm's life as a result—a richness that was missing from his life and that of his own contemporaries. Tom sighed. He truly wished Harmon a good life with the beautiful Marine. He certainly deserved it.

He shook his head. He really shouldn't doubt the bond between Harm and the colonel. Harm had eventually told him about the two trips to Russia and what had really happened to Hammer. He was glad to finally know the truth – he had always felt guilty that he had come home and Hammer hadn't. For years he'd had nightmares about Hammer in a bamboo cage or maybe in the "Hanoi Hilton." Then when the war was finally over and he wasn't released with the other POWs, Tom had tried to contact as many as he could. No one had ever heard even a whisper about his fate. At least the not knowing was over for Harm and Trish.

He supposed he really owed the colonel for her devotion to Harm—he wasn't sure how many women would have followed Harm—and saved his skin, by the way, in more ways than one during the whole time Harm had been trying to come to terms with his father's disappearance. And, of course, there was that Article 32 hearing over the murder of a Russian mobster—all connected to the search for the truth behind the MIA rumors. He had been out of the country the first time Harm had faced a murder charge and was profoundly relieved to find out about it only after the fact. He grinned, remembering hearing about the brig break. "Hammer," he told his old friend, "Harm never does anything half way."

Tom acknowledged to himself that perhaps a small part of his resentment against the colonel was definitely for Harm's sake—she'd damned near cost Harm his entire Naval career – not to mention his very life – when she'd let herself get involved in that business for the CIA in Paraguay and it "went south." He remembered his shock when he heard Harm had resigned his commission and literally "headed south" to the South American country. If he had been anywhere in sight at the time, he would have taken a "hammer" to Harm. As it was, Harm had shocked his friends again when the rumor mill chatter had it that he had gone to work for the CIA after he got back. He had also gone more-or-less underground to his friends. For months, he had been totally out of contact with anybody and everybody who had meant anything to him. Finally, bumping into Tobias Ingles at the Pentagon, the newly frocked RDML Ingles had told him Harm was back at JAG, and had somehow also gained a teenage ward along the way. It was then that Tom made a special effort to get back in touch with the son of his old friend.

When Harm had introduced Tom to Ms. Matilda "Mattie" Grace, there had been a twinkle in Harm's eyes and a grin on his face. Later, the two men had shared a drink and a laugh when Tom asked Harm, "What is it with you and spicy women, anyway? Even the young 'uns?" Mattie was certainly a handful, and Tom was very curious as to how she and Mac got along. It had been no real surprise when he had been informed by his sources the two really hadn't known each other all that well until relatively recently.

He knew Harm had been devastated by Mattie's accident. He understood they were making plans to transfer her to London to continue her rehab. He truly wished Mattie well—she had been very, very good for Harm, saving him from sinking all the way to the bottom of the well of bitterness springing from the business in Paraguay. For that reason alone, he was prepared to like and love Mattie for her own self. He hoped she'd fully recover and that her dream of Annapolis and following Harm into Naval aviation hadn't ended with the plane crash. As far as Mac was concerned, well, he was prepared to suspend judgment and see how that adventure turned out. That marriage was either going to be heaven on earth or Dante's seventh level of hell revisited.

How do you sum up a career such as Harm's, anyway? It was certainly colorful and event-filled to date, and with his recent promotion, he was certain there'd be more to come.

Tom didn't care much for lawyers—their way of "fighting" was too ambiguous, too subtle. Give him a tomcat, a squadron of tomcats, or even a battle group of ships, for that matter. Add a clear-cut enemy and he was in his element. But, he had reason to be thankful for lawyers—especially Harm, and especially because Harm himself had proven to be far more than just "competent" in both of his chosen careers. Maybe …outstanding, brilliant, or superlative? Hell, maybe all three!

First, he absolutely owed Harm his very life thanks to Harm's inherent abilities—hell, natural talent—as a Naval aviator. Secondly, he had been cleared of, first, sexual harassment charges when he was a CAG, and then towards the end of his career, war crimes charges stemming from his tour of duty in 'Nam. He grimaced: what did the colonel have against him anyway, he wondered? She had been trial counsel two out of the three times he had needed legal advise beyond the routine "wills" and "taxes" that Navy legal assistance provided, and poor Harm had been caught between the two of them, although Harm had handled the situation well enough. Tom sighed. He supposed it was some kind of rule—what goes on in the courtroom stays in the courtroom. Otherwise, how could lawyers be friends? That was a kind of detachment he found difficult to comprehend.

Harm's career in Naval Aviation, on the other hand, while short, was positively brilliant. Two DFCs and a silver star were graphic proof of his abilities. Not too many flag officers had those kinds of decorations. Appropriate, Tom supposed, for a rare kind of courage—and creativity. He chuckled in admiration: not too many aviators he knew could come up with the "tail hook maneuver" like Harm had that had saved a couple of flyers from an unpleasant, uncertain fate over the Balkans. Not too many aviators he knew of would come up with the notion of "playing tag with a dirty nuke" and not too many would have the courage to try a maneuver of tipping a wing more than 45 degrees to save a couple of flyers suffering from oxygen deprivation. It wasn't that Harm wasn't afraid—he had confessed that in an oblique manner, stating it was "desperation" that inspired such a maneuver, to anybody who asked—but he acted anyway. This was the real definition of courage, as far as Thomas Boone was concerned, and the first "Hammer"—Harm's father—would have certainly been proud of everything his son had achieved in his career. Indeed, Tom thought Hammer's chest would be thrown out in so much pride, the buttons on his uniform blouse would have popped off!

And all of that wasn't even mentioning Harm's deep and sincere compassion for others – strangers as well as friends. Tom had been profoundly moved when Harm had given his precious wings to the young newly-minted aviator whose dream was to become a Blue Angel but had missed his winging ceremony because of a friend's problems. How many times had Harm demonstrated a true compassion both in the air and in his legal career—of which Tom actually knew very little, beyond some of the higher viz cases that were mentioned in Navy Times articles from time to time. But he knew there were plenty – the Cuban refugee child had made the news, as well as the dirtbag Chief who'd murdered the little girl and nearly killed her sister, the Vietnamese kids held in sweatshop slavery – and Tom figured there were more he'd never know about. Harm certainly never sought medals or publicity. Some thought Harm was arrogant and brash—but that was nothing but the self-confidence every Naval aviator had to possess in great quantity or wash out early in his career – or get himself killed.

Reaching out and gently touching the name on the black granite wall, he caught a movement out of the side of his eye. He dropped his hand and turned, only to see Harm's old CO, now-retired Rear Admiral A.J. Chegwidden slowly making his way along the Memorial Wall. He watched and waited as the other old salt came to his side, came to attention, and saluted, holding the salute longer than absolutely necessary. His arm snapped down, and it was only then that he turned to Tom and offered a hand for the customary handshake among equals.

"Hello."

Tom's eyebrows lifted. "Is that all you're gonna to say to an old fellow officer?"

Chegwidden snorted. "Fellow officer? Hell no. I've considered you a friend for 35 years!"

Tom grabbed for the offered hand, shaking it in a vigorous fashion. "What brings you out here tonight?"

"I just got back in the country – was glancing through the last few months' worth of Navy Times and saw the news from JAG Headquarters. Called the Roberts and heard about Mattie's accident and the marriage."

There was a pause. Tom glanced at the other admiral. "Well?"

"Well, what?"

Tom grunted. "I would've thought you'd have more to say."

This time, it was Chegwidden's eyebrows that climbed half ways to a non-existent hairline. "I haven't quite decided what my reaction is." He paused, then continued. "I think my initial reaction was one of shock, then delight." His chuckle sounded false to Tom's ears. "I'm happy for both Harm and the Navy. Despite his faults, Harm has done a lot for the Service and it would've been a damned shame if he hadn't been promoted!"

Tom's eyebrows shot up and A.J. continued, answering the unspoken question. This time, his chuckle was for real. "Lord help the person – even my successor - who gets in the way when Harm and Mac finally decide what they want! I am truly happy for them – for nine long years it was the JAG Daily Soap Opera in the bullpen. There were times when I expected a request to film "As the Bullpen Turns" or "The Lawyers and the Restless" onboard. All I can say is 'hell, it's about damned time' or something like that. I'll tell you, there were times the last few years I considered just giving them an order! I swear, it probably would have improved morale and 'good order and discipline' at JAG! Not to mention stop Harriet's matchmaking – and distribute the office pool. I heard the amount was nearly in the five figures by the time I retired, and that was over a year ago."

Tom just glanced at the other admiral and then turned his face back to the wall and gestured towards it. "Hammer would've been proud."

There was a grimace on A.J.'s face and a pregnant pause before Chegwidden responded. "Yeah." He skipped a beat. "Rightfully so."

Tom shifted his position and turned his body to fully face the other admiral. "So, to repeat: what brings you out here tonight?"

There was an unusual shuffling of feet on Chegwidden's part, a shrug of the shoulders. "I suppose I wanted to honor Harm, but I'm not quite ready to call him, so this is the only way I can."

Tom refrained from saying anything for a couple of minutes as they both stared at the name engraved on the Wall. Then he looked at A.J. "Buy you a drink?"

The other man's face brightened. "Sounds like a plan. Actually, I've been meaning to call you. Promised myself I would when you couldn't make it to my Dining Out. I'm glad we've met up tonight."

Tom jerked his head towards the street. "Benzinger's?"

"Hell, no!" Tom was brought up short by the other's strong reaction. There was an apologetic tone to A.J.'s voice: "Benzinger's has a bad taste in my mouth—ever since. . ."

Tom thought he might have been blinded by the light bulb that went on in his head. He glanced at A.J. "The murdered lieutenant?"

They started walking towards the street and their parked cars. "Yeah. That was a bar most of the O's and the bullpen frequented. I think the group started hanging out at McMurphy's for drinks and pool and darts and so on after all that was put behind us."

Tom could only nod. "Understandable." Another pause. "McMurphy's it is. I'll follow you."

End Part I.


	2. Chapter 2

We greatly appreciate all the comments we've received and hope you continue to enjoy the story.

Part II—The Lawyer

McMurphy's Tavern

2100/9:00 p.m

Same evening as before

Tom leaned back in his high bar stool and looked at his friend. "So, how is retirement treating you?"

A.J. snorted. "No headaches." A touch of wistfulness came into the gruff voice that had ruled JAG for so many years. "Sometimes, I sort of miss those headaches."

Tom tossed a glance at the former JAG. "You wouldn't be referring to a certain newly-promoted Captain we both know, would you?"

A.J. fingered his bourbon and glanced at Tom. "In a way—yeah." He leaned back and this time, looked at Tom. "We didn't part on the best of terms."

Tom thought, "What an excellent segue!" He made a point of not looking at A.J.

"Are there reasons for that?"

A.J.'s hands went to brush over his bare scalp in a motion of exasperation. "Yeah—mostly my fault—but not entirely."

A brief silence fell over the two men and then Tom ventured a word, "Paraguay?"

A.J. glanced up sharply. "What do you know about that? That whole op was supposed to have been classified."

Tom snorted, losing some of his drink in the process. "Hell, A.J. You know how this town works! Especially when there's a resignation involved." He glanced at A.J. and his eyebrows were raised in a mild challenge. "You want to clarify things, now's the time to do it."

A.J.'s look was piercing, but Tom didn't flinch. "Do I dare 'bear' my soul to a friend of his?"

Tom shrugged and stared into his glass of scotch. "I may be an 'old family friend' of his, but I'm your friend, too. You said it—35 years—since we met in 'Nam."

There was a heavy pregnant pause. Then Chegwidden continued, his voice far away in the past. "There was a time I fully believed Harm would be the JAG someday."

Tom kept silent.

The other admiral continued. "Then, something seemed to happen and he kept screwin' up."

Tom's eyebrows just rose in an unasked question as he lifted his glass to sip.

Chegwidden just snorted. "How, I suppose is your question." He gazed into his glass. "That year just before Paraguay was not his best year. " He suddenly flung one of his arms into the air as if to wave away gathering clouds. "Things were definitely strained between him and Mac—a result of their respective stints as judges, so far as I could tell. . .There was probably more I didn't know about. . .but. . .," he grimaced. "You would have thought they would have been more professional than that, letting that competitive streak they both possess in abundance get out of control!" A.J. always spoke pretty calmly, with that deadly you-want-to-take-cover-kinda voice, but always calmly. There was another sip on both men's parts and another silence. Then the words came gushing out of A.J.'s mouth like oil coming out of an oil strike. "He was so off 'his game' in so many ways and in so many cases. .. And of course, I never did find out just how involved he was with LT Singer—except he wasn't the child's father and he didn't kill the woman!" He leaned over the bar, shoving his glass around aimlessly. His eyes were downcast and Tom had the impression he was lost in thought. "I assumed, when Gibbs started the NCIS investigation, Harm was telling the truth when he said he didn't kill her." A.J. shook his head ruefully. "But he sure was awfully evasive when I tried to pin down what exactly was between him and Singer! In fact," and a very tiny grin graced his face, "I told him Gibbs reminded me an awful lot of him." He laughed outright at the memory. "You should have seen his face!"

"You're still kinda angry with him, aren't you?"

"Yes—and no." A.J. straightened up. "I guess I'm more angry with myself, really. Harm couldn't do anything more than be himself. I should have recognized I was trying to change him into something he wasn't."

Tom snorted. Then, because he was this man's peer and contemporary, he commented, "Sounds like Harm wasn't the only one who had to grow up." He turned to face the other man. "Just what did you expect, anyway?"

A.J. snorted. "I don't know." He took a sip from his glass and added, almost as if he were talking to himself. "It wasn't like I didn't have a warning."

Tom stayed silent, likewise taking a sip from his glass. His eyebrows went up then he added, "Lindsey's report?"

A.J. tossed a sharp glance at the other man. "I thought that report was 'classified' too."

Tom laughed. "Are you kidding?" His eyebrows shot up in amusement. "A report like that filled with juicy tidbits?" He sobered. "I got my hands on a copy." He paused, then added, "You ran an exciting office."

"Til I lost control of it" A.J.'s whisper was gut-wrenching in it's combination of despair and embarrassment. He straightened up and stretched a bit, looked around as if he might spot someone he might just possibly know, and then settled back down. "Harm threw himself into any case or investigation or tasking with all the enthusiasm one would want—with one or two exceptions." He shrugged his shoulders. "I suppose that's not a bad record, considering Harm was at JAG for longer than I was—at least ten years. Maybe I was expecting too much. Maybe he'd just burned out."

Tom's curiosity was piqued. "So, what's your real assessment of Harm's legal skills—and I'm not talking about what's on the official 'fit reps' yougave him, either?"

A.J.'s eyebrows came together in a frown as hegave the question serious consideration. "He is an exceptional attorney. He finds a way to resolve problems with the least amount of damage to anyone, regardless of which side of the courtroom he's on. He's also, not withstanding his protests to the contrary, one hell of a politician!—or he used to be, anyway."

"Really!"

"He knows—or at least he used to, anyhow—just how far to push the boundaries between superior and junior officers and when to back off, the mission to Paraguay being the major exception." A.J. paused in reflection. "Hell, there was at least one occasion in which he could have charged me with 'undue command influence'—and he didn't."

Tom glanced at the other man, took still another sip, and pursued his line of questioning. "I can hardly believe that of you, Admiral."

"Well, the circumstances were—umm, unique, I should say." He turned to face the other man and there was a wry look on his face. "My daughter was kidnapped by Italian Mafioso—something to do with stray stinger missiles." His face turned dark. "I actually saw the moment when my ex-wife became a widow." He was remembering the shock he—and by extension, Harm—had felt at the execution-style killing. "Can't say the man didn't deserve it—but to actually watch it, well. . ."

"Always a shock."

"You were asking for an assessment. Creative, imaginative, determined—everything you would want in a defense attorney. I think," and A.J.'s brows again came together in concentration, "he makes a better defense attorney than a prosecutor. There are a few cases he 'lost' as a defense counsel, but, over the ten year or so time span, damned few. And when he was partnered with Mac, they never lost a case. Well, maybe two, sort of—but one was 'political', there was no punishment awarded. The other. . ." A.J. shook his head. "There wasn't much Harm could do except minimize the length of punishment." He glanced at the other man. "It was the first case Harm and Mac worked together on and it involved her uncle! God, Tom, they were just unbeatable. Can't quite say the same when he prosecuted." He snorted again and looked at Tom. "Do you remember hearing about how he used the courtroom for target practice?"

Tom snickered. "Yeah—always thought those were rumors—the whispers coming from 'sour-grapes' losers!"

"Well, it's true." A.J. took a sip of his drink and a thoughtful look took position on his face. "What gets lost in all of that is the actual case itself—turns out—" he bit his lip—he was on the verge of violating confidences and professional standards.

"A.J., I'm not going to blab to anyone—but it sounds like you need to –what's the psychobabble term?—vent!"

A.J. sighed and straightened up, took still another sip. "That case was the first of several where Harm had to deal with the issue of gays in the military."

Tom felt a vague wave of disgust. At the same time, he was intrigued. "So how often do these cases come up, anyway?" He had heard the statistics that approximately 10 of the general American population was gay/lesbian; he wasn't sure he believed those stats—and the military was but a reflection of the society it was sworn to defend.

"Not often—but often enough to suspect there're more gay men and lesbian women out there serving than what one would suspect. Bother you—that you might have had one or two gay aviators under your command through the years?"

During the entire previous conversation, Tom had had the impression Chegwidden had been on the defensive. Now, staring down into his drink, he found himself there. He glanced up at the expression on A.J.'s face—it was a mixture of genuine curiosity and held a tiny bit of "Gotcha!" all at the same time. Tom decided it was a unique expression, one he had not seen at all in his previous experience with the man sitting beside him at the bar. "Paybacks are hell, aren't they, Admiral?" was his thought as he shifted, trying to think of a way to answer the question. He frowned. Since A.J. was the force behind Harm's visiting him to bring him out of retirement, he felt like he owed the man an honest answer—he wouldn't have missed the final phase of his active duty career for all the world.

"I think perhaps it does, just a little." He shook himself. "The thought is 'creepy'. But," and he shrugged it off, "I never knew."

"Hence, the 'Don't Ask, Don't Tell' policy, as bad as it was, kinda worked, didn't it?" There was an edge to A.J.'s voice, again, one Tom hadn't heard before. He shrugged.

"Yeah—I guess. Although," he added, "I would like to think I would've known if I'd had gay aviators in my squadrons."

A.J. shook his head. "Mic Brumby told me once he thought all Naval aviators, including those in the Royal Australian Navy, felt 'inadequate' in certain important ways—which he thought explained why and how they were all so damned cocky AND why they are so compelled to fly those damned war birds."

At that, Tom just snorted. He sipped his drink, lifted his eyebrows, and glanced sharply at A.J. "I don't feel 'inadequate'—in any way, shape, or form!"

At that response, both men let loose with a small chuckle. A silence fell between them, filled with an acceptance that comes only among contemporary companions. Then A.J. stirred, lifting his nearly-empty glass to signal the bartender for a refill. Tom reached for his wallet. "Let me get that one for you, A.J."

As the bartender obligingly refilled the drink, A.J.'s musings continued and Tom had to strain to hear most of it. "Harm's a 'trouble magnet." He shook his head. "I don't understand how one man can be the center of so much trouble."

"That comes from being so committed, I think," Tom said thoughtfully. "I don't think you can be so committed to finding the truth AND not generate some friction—especially as an investigator. THAT's bound to stir up some trouble, especially on the part of those in the spotlight of said investigations!" He chuckled, mostly to himself—he was remembering how conflicted he himself had felt, both times he had been the subject—target?—of a JAGman investigation.

A.J. looked as though he was staring into—what, the past? "I guess that's true." He shifted, as though to get more comfortable on the bar stool. "I remember when I sent Harm and Mac to investigate what was supposed to be a navigation error on the _Watertown_. THAT investigation damned near got both of them killed. They barely walked away from that one, Harm with an injured larynx and Mac with sore eyes!"

Tom just raised his eyebrows in question and A.J. continued. "It was a deranged medical corpsman—he attacked Harm when he discovered what was really going on—the corpsman was making everybody sick so he could be a hero. Then he sprayed Mac's eyes with ammonia. It was a close one." He was shaking his head in memory. Then he chuckled. "The two of them were definitely at odds the week before in the office—and it took that trip to shake some sense into both of them." A thought struck him. "Do you know, I think I never really realized just how much they have in common until just now."

Now, Tom was intrigued. He knew Harm's family history—hell, he had been there for the early defining event in Harm's life—the downing of Hammer's plane in Vietnam—he'd been his wingman! He knew, intellectually, anyway, how much that must have hurt and shaped the personality of that small boy so many years ago. What he didn't know was the colonel's personal history. He glanced at A.J. and just raised his eyebrows in a question.

"Neither one of them will back down in front of a higher authority when looking for the truth behind any given incident. And when they collide in court—well, I guess I should have expected things to happen!" He looked at Tom. "Do you suppose that comes of having no real male authority figure in the home at an early age?"

Tom shrugged his shoulders. "A.J., I'm no psychologist." He turned back to his drink. "I suppose that theory makes as much sense as anything else 'floating' around out there." He swallowed a gulp, then turned to the other man. "I take it the colonel didn't exactly grow up in the ideal home environment?"

A.J. only drank the remainder of his drink. Tom motioned to the bartender for a refill. "She's never said much to me about her background—I'm assuming Harm knows about it." He tossed a side look at his companion. "I know this: she never drinks alcohol, even in group social get-togethers when it might be appropriate. Tonic with lime is her drink of choice – always. I'm not positive, but I think maybe she's got an alcoholic problem."

Now, this was gossip of the purest kind. Tom's eyebrows rose. "Apparently, it's never been a 'problem' one way or the other?"

A.J. shook his head, his mind apparently going back in time. "Naw." There was a pause. "There was the time when she was being stalked by a cop who was handling the civilian side of a case we were investigating. That kinda shook her up—but Harm ran 'interference' for her and I never really got close enough to understand everything about that case."

The two men looked at each other a bit guiltily, A.J. muttering "really shouldn't be gossiping like this about her …I've got no real evidence …forget it …will'ya."

End part II.


	3. Chapter 3

20

We greatly appreciate your interest and the many favorable comments. We hope you enjoy the concluding section of "Admiral's Mast."

Notes: (1) These are career military officers who are consuming a fair amount of alcohol. Their language, particularly A.J.'s, is a bit "salty." No offense intended. (2) There are several seemingly contradictory lines and/or thoughts in this section. This is deliberate – drinking often leads to the mouth getting ahead of the thoughts, (3) See A/Ns at the end re promotions, a challenge, and McRose's future plans.

As Part II ended, A.J. had shared with Tom his suspicion that Mac has what he called an "alcoholic problem," but then asked him to "forget it," noting that he had no evidence except that Mac never drinks alcohol, even on social occasions.

Part III—The Commanding Officer

As they exchanged slightly shamefaced glances at their gossiping, a third man came up and sat at the bar. The bartender recognized him and asked, "What'll you have, General?"

Tom and A.J. glanced at each other and then away, as the newcomer placed his order for a dry martini and looked around him. He nodded in greeting to his neighbors. "Gentlemen."

A silence fell over the small group.

"General, huh?" A.J. grunted. "You're a little afar from your home stomping grounds, aren't you? This is mostly a Navy/Marine Corps hunting ground." A.J. snorted. Even as he spoke, if one looked around one could see the evidence of the perpetual "'I'll chase you 'til you catch me' chase" between the genders going on that was a part of every bar scene A.J. had ever been in.

"This is foreign territory to me, period." The newcomer commented. He grimaced. "I'd rather be home—but my womenfolk temporarily 'kicked' me out—turns out one of my daughter's high school friends is getting married and Cammie and Dora are hosting a bridal shower. I was told in no uncertain terms men are not welcome under our roof tonight. So here I am." He shrugged his shoulders and then glanced sharply at A.J. "Bars are foreign territory to me—not a Marine/Navy hunting ground. I'm a Marine and darned proud of it, too." All of a sudden, the man's demeanor changed and became far friendlier. He stuck his hand out for a handshake as he introduced himself. "'Biff' Cresswell."

A.J. started. "The new JAG?"

"The very same."

A.J. and Tom glanced at each other significantly. Their demeanors became friendly in turn. A.J. stuck his hand out to take the other's hand.

"A.J. Chegwidden, Rear Admiral, JAG Corps, retired," and he nodded towards Tom. "Tom Boone, Rear Admiral, SecNav's special assistant, also retired."

The newcomer's eyebrows squinted. "My predecessor." He straightened up and looked at A.J. "Should have recognized you from your picture." He skipped a beat. "Glad to meet you." He took a sip of the now-delivered martini set in front of him. "I'm truly pleased to meet you. I have a great deal of respect for the work you did while you were JAG." He shook his head. "Big shoes to fill, Admiral." He lifted his drink in a salute to his predecessor.

A.J. leaned back to look at the younger man. "Well, we've got the horse here. Just what the hell is going on over at headquarters?"

"Big staff upheaval." The current JAG sighed and glanced at A.J. "Overdue, really."

"Time gets away from the best of us, General," was Tom's diplomatic reply as he held his glass to his lips and held his breath. A.J. snorted in agreement. He took another sip of his drink. Again, he was on the defensive.

"A lot happened through the years," he mumbled, so low that the other men almost didn't hear him.

The general cast an inquiring eye. "What don't I know that I should know?"

A.J. snorted. "I'm not sure any of it's really relevant now, since the transfers have taken place."

The general was a Marine, and the Marines have a bulldog for a mascot, not without reason. He displayed that reason. "What aren't you telling me, Admiral?"

A.J. sighed. "Well, what do you wannna know, specifically? About the time Rabb almost crossed the line and got disbarred, about the time he was accused and court-martialed for the murder of a fellow JAG lieutenant, or the time he resigned rather than obey a direct order? That was all just within the last two years I was JAG!" Tom thought A.J. had clearly slipped into a reflective mood. The retired admiral arched an eyebrow at the General. "That court martial was the second time Harm faced murder charges!" A.J.'s eyes glazed over. "And, of course, earlier—much earlier, there was that time he crashed in the Atlantic trying to get back for MacKenzie's wedding to another man—one he absolutely despised."

The general was shocked at the latter news. "Her Service Record doesn't show anything but a deceased first husband!"

A.J. leaned over the bar and tossed a grim look of amusement at the general. "That was the husband Mac killed in self-defense. Harm defended her. And the man she was set to marry was trial counsel!"

He took another sip of his glass and snorted. "It got to be a god-damn tabloid news story there for a while!"

The general was silent, took a sip of his own drink, and then gently nudged A.J. back into his memories. "Why did the Captain crash into the Atlantic?"

A.J. straightened up. "The Mishap Investigation Board decided it was a lightening strike coupled with massive system failures. There was also a bum weather forecast before they took off." He sighed. "It was a damned near thing as to whether they were gonna open up a whole can of worms by going into the reasons he was flying in such terrible weather. They ultimately decided it was a lightening strike and decided not to go any further." His face brightened just a bit. "It would have been v-e-r-y interesting if they had decided to go into that particular issue." He turned to the newcomer. "There were theories flying around the bullpen he was going to try to stop the wedding." He snorted. "He did—but in a totally unexpected way and in a typically spectacular fashion." He shrugged. "Then there was the time he almost resigned to go try to rescue his Russian half-brother from a POW camp in Chechnya. And, of course, there was the whole fucking mess I let Mac get into in Paraguay." He shrugged his shoulders. "There were times, especially in that year before Paraguay, when I wondered if Rabb's heart was really at JAG or elsewhere! " He slammed his glass down on the bar. "There were times when I wondered just why he was still in the Navy—he didn't seem all that committed to the Service!"

Tom held onto long-drilled-in military discipline. Some of what A.J. had just said, he had known about. Some of it, he'd had no idea. He waited to see how the General would respond.

Cresswell fingered his glass, then looked at the retired JAG. "Some of it I'd heard via the grapevine and the gossip mongers." A.J. just snorted again, in disdain. Creswell's eyebrows shot up, "What I want to know is, just how much of what I've heard is true? Lawyers are among the biggest gossips there are."

"Just exactly what did you hear, General?" A.J. straightened out and turned to face Cresswell.

"I heard about Rabb's court martial for the lieutenant's death, of course. That was big news up and down the line, not to mention in the Navy Times and the Washington Post. I didn't know about the near-disbarment. That sounds really serious."

"Yeah, well, what can I say?" He snorted. "Rabb claimed he had national security interests at heart—never mind, he jumped into that case on his own while flying cover at Pax River!"

"Well, what about the other stuff?" The general was intrigued. During his first eight months tenure as JAG, Harmon Rabb had impressed him as a consummate professional – other than an occasional flippant remark -- focused on his cases and other taskings.

A.J. looked as though he was lost in another world altogether. "Paraguay—what a fucking mess!"

The general looked confused. Tom kept his own face carefully composed. The rumor mill at the Pentagon had gone rampant during that period about what was going on over at JAG—and Rabb's resignation had produced a shock wave that had ramifications all up and down the military hierarchy, as well as within the CIA, given Rabb's connections with all levels of government in the Capital. He himself didn't know all of the details, and he was as curious as the general. Biff asked the obvious question, "What about Paraguay?"

"I couldn't put another officer in harm's way, I just couldn't!" A.J. was halfway sloshed by now and he acted like he was muttering to himself to convince himself. Tom gripped his glass and kept a sharp albeit unobtrusive eye on his friend. A.J. mumbled on, "I really did think there was a very good possibility Webb and Mac were already dead."

There was a very profound pause. Tom decided he had to nudge the other admiral on—A.J. was obviously, and quite uncharacteristically, wallowing in the mother of all guilt trips. "A.J. Just exactly what happened in Paraguay?"

A.J. sighed, put his glass down on the bar and looked at both of his companions. "I suppose the gossip mongers had the mother of all field days with this one. Might as well clear up as much as I can." He turned to the general. "In theory, General, most, if not all of this, is supposed to be 'classified'—but I can well imagine the theories and chatter running amuck at the Pentagon were probably all over the board." He looked at Tom, who nodded in response.

"It started when a CIA agent, a spook by the name of Clayton Webb, came to me to ask to borrow one of my officers—Mac, as a matter of fact—to pose as his pregnant wife and a diamond expert. Well, not really started then—Webb had been 'borrowing' my officers—typically Harm or Mac or both of them since right after I got to JAG. If I said 'no' he or his boss just went over my head to the SecNav. This time, it story was that the CIA had gotten some intel that a terrorist by the name of Sadiq Fahd had gotten his hands on 100 Stinger missiles and was amassing them in Paraguay for an attack on U.S. 'domestic targets'." He paused. "Webb was going to 'sell' him the control boards for the missiles in exchange for diamonds. They were going to track the location of the missiles and take them out with air strikes." He paused again, caught up in the story. "All of that went according to plan—except one of our other people, a Marine who used to run JAG Ops for me, whom I didn't know was also involved—was captured by Sadiq. Uh-h-h…Mac and Gunny went way back." A.J. looked down at his glass then glanced at the General. Tom had the distinct impression he was very reluctant to actually get to the heart of the matter that was covered by the word "Paraguay."

"Anyway, Mac's a Marine's Marine—she lives by the Code." A.J.'s hand shook and his voice rasped. They had to strain to hear him. "More than I did. So, there was no way she was gonna leave Gunny behind. Webb refused, but when she started off alone, he went with her. Well, in going in after Gunny, Mac and Webb were captured. Gunny was able to get away."

"Is that really why you retired?" Boone's voice was soft.

"Yeah." A.J.'s voice reflected his anguish. "They missed a check in—maybe it was two— and Rabb went off the deep end, resigning his commission to go rescue Mac and, I suppose by extension, Webb. He thought I'd left her to die down there. God, those two were like my own. I thought she was dead and didn't wanna lose him, too. Between the SecNav jerking my chain over Lindsey's goddamm report and how mad I was at Rabb for all his stunts, I nearly did let her die. I didn't deserve to wear the uniform anymore, let alone be the JAG." He gulped at his drink, his voice slurred and shaking. "I violated the Code—Harm called me on it and instead of helping him find her, I made his life hell. Anyway, that's the nickel version."

There was a stunned silence. Boone tried to prop A.J. up. "It worked out. . ."

Then the General puzzled, "How did Rabb know about MacKenzie?"

"Ah-h-h-h, now there's the rub of the matter, so to speak." A.J. took another swallow of his drink, and Tom, although thinking his friend had already had too much to drink, decided, as reticent and private an individual as A.J. was, talking about that period in his tenure as the JAG was probably a good thing. If it took a vast amount of alcohol to get him to open up, then so be it. He motioned to the bartender to refill A.J.'s glass. "You know," and his words had a slight slur to them, "she found him in the ocean through her psychic 'thing'—and ya would have thought they would've gotten together after that—except she also solved a murder using those same skills—and that was for a relative stranger! So, the question still remains—how does she use those skills, anyway?" He blinked, as if just remembering the original question. "I never thought Rabb was 'gifted' with those same abilities—yet, I understand he was having a whole lot of difficulties with nightmares, maybe more." A.J. would never tell anyone Rabb had confided in him during that trip to the Navy-Marine All-Star Baseball game about his "premonitions" about Mac's fate. He lifted his newly-filled drink to sip again. "Shouldn't wonder, I guess—his determination to find out the truth about his father reopened with a vengeance early in his career at JAG after an investigation with Mac on board the Ticonderoga—and I always got the feeling there was more to that than what I was told—or that either would say, for that matter." He was lost once more in thought. Tom thought he was good and well and thoroughly drunk at this point. "Rabb's awfully creative and intuitive. Wonder if he's psychic, as well?"

There was a pause in which A.J. gazed into his glass. Tom and Cresswell exchanged concerned glances.

The general plunked his glass down on the bar and motioned for his own refill. "Just curious, Admiral—which one is the better lawyer?"

"Wrong question to ask, General." A.J.'s mouth turned down in a frown. "Mac has always been much more objective. She's got a sorta deadly calm even as she goes for the jugular." Boone made a noise, almost a choking sound. "Sorry, Tom, I forgot for a moment she prosecuted YOU. But she can make an impassioned argument with the best of them. Brilliant litigator. She got my ass out from under Mast before the SecNav for slugging a fucking disrespectful high school kid. Harm's more emotional, will go out on a limb faster than Mac—it's almost his modus operandi! She'll do it as a last resort." A thought struck him and the touch of a grin graced his mouth. "Harm always seemed to have his head in the clouds, both literally and figuratively." The amusement left his face and he contemplated, once again, the question in a serious manner. "Harm's brilliant in the courtroom, too, creative, imaginative, everything you can want in front of members. The thing is, as a team, they're the best I've ever seen. They both complement each other and complete each other at the same time." He continued. "Mac makes the better prosecutor—she's strictly by-the-book. Harm—", he shook his head, "especially in the early years—you just never knew what he would do."

The general, by now had emptied his drink and ordered another refill. "Does their impending marriage surprise you, Admiral?"

A.J. snorted. "Not at all. Actually, it's about damned time!" Tom could tell he was taken back to another point in time. A.J. turned to him. "Tom, did Harm ever tell you about Australia?"

Tom could only respond negatively. "It's just as well he didn't." He took another drink. "He and Mic Brumby actually got into a fight over the colonel—and inadvertently broke Roberts' jaw in two places! Goddamned funniest thing I've ever seen!"

Creswell's eyebrows shot up in astonishment. "That isn't in his Service Record!"

A.J. straightened up. "It wouldn't be. My Aussie counterpart and I sorta administered 'non-judicial punishment' to both of them."

Tom recognized the mischievous look on A.J.'s face. He kept silent and the general just looked at A.J. expectantly. A.J. leaned forward on the bar keeping his gaze from either man. He said as nonchalantly as he could. "We told the two of them to keep beating on each other until they administered as much pain to each other as they had administered to Bud!"

The other two men sat in stunned silence then both broke out in laughter.

"So you're not surprised?" Cresswell asked again.

"Hell, yes! I'm surprised Harm popped the question! What's more—I'm surprised she accepted him."

Tom was genuinely curious. "Why is that?"

A.J. glanced at Tom. "You wouldn't have seen it—you were in her prosecutorial sights at least twice, but Mac has a special allure that most men can't seem to resist. The sad part is she doesn't seem to be aware of it at all. She constantly underestimates and sells herself short." He turned to the general. "Surely, you've noticed?"

The General carefully fingered his glass, keeping his gaze away from eye contact with the other two men. "I know she's an impressive woman. I even had her talk to Cammie—my daughter—when Cammie hit a rough spell at the Academy."

"And you're not going to tell us it was due entirely to her being a Marine or some other factor, are you?" A.J. was clearly turning into a "mean drunk". Tom shifted uneasily wondering if it was time to get his old friend back home. This was a "clear shot across the bow" at Creswell's status as a very married male.

"That's my business and my business alone!" Creswell's eyes flashed and Tom got the distinct impression he was holding in his own anger. "The colonel is an attractive—"he stopped and then started again, "The colonel is indeed a beautiful and impressive woman, but I've got one of my own waiting at home." The anger seemed to disappear and there was astonishment and bewilderment in his voice. "Why would I want to go stirring up trouble at home and at work?"

Tom snickered to himself but his concern for his colleague remained. He had heard about the cancellation of A.J.'s wedding and wondered, not for the first time, whether alcohol had let loose some demons, like jealousy, better kept under a tight rope. His suspicions were confirmed when he detected a tone of apology in A.J.'s voice. 

"Sorry," A.J. mumbled. He straightened up and looked directly into Cresswell's eyes. "Woman trouble of my own, I'm afraid."

The General was clearly uncomfortable. It showed in the way he was fingering his glass and his refusal to look at the other men.

"You ran an exciting office, Admiral," he began, and Tom could see A.J.'s shoulders hunch up a fraction in a defensive move. "I don't doubt you had your reasons—but I don't see how your office could have been so damned productive at the same time you had a soap opera atmosphere – or at least all that disruption - in the Bullpen! And I thought Coates was bad!"

"Just what the hell are you talking about, General?" A.J.'s tone was low, close to a growl.

This time, the General looked—really looked—at the retired admiral. "Roberts—and apparently, Rabb."

"Roberts a 'disruptive influence'!" Both of the retired admirals' eyebrows shot up in disbelief. "We're talking about Lieutenant Commander Bud Roberts, aren't we?" The incredulity in A.J.'s voice showed in the way his voice climbed an octave in tone. Tom's own eyebrows shot up:

"Roberts got a promotion?" He knew his voice showed his own shock.

A.J.'s shoulders hunched together, again fractionally. "Yeah." He lifted his eyes to meet Tom's. "I pushed it through as my last act as JAG. Used my silver bullets. He earned it. He deserved it."

Tom turned away and ordered another drink. A.J. was definitely on the defensive again. "Well, he did. He's turned into a mighty fine attorney—as good as Rabb or MacKenzie, if not better. And he did sacrifice a leg during that tour on the Seahawk." A.J.'s eyes glistened with moisture as he remembered that godawful time. "He's fit for full duty—passed the PFT both swimming AND running!"

The General only grunted and took a sip from his drink. "Well, for what it's worth, I thought he was a 'loose cannon' in the shop."

A.J.'s response was puzzling to the General—his jaw dropped and the liquid that had been in his mouth came out in a stream like scattered buckshot. He was coughing as if some of the liquid had gone down the wrong windpipe andTom started pounding on his back.

Both admirals were roaring with laughter. "Roberts—a loose cannon? Surely, you jest!" was A.J.'s response, once he got a grip on himself. He snorted. "Rabb's more of a loose canon than Roberts ever thought about being!"

It was the General's turn to be defensive. He shrugged. "I have found Captain Rabb to be entirely professional—even if his mouth tends to run a bit at times. And if he and MacKenzie were involved, they sure as hell kept it out of the office. Roberts, on the other hand. . ." He turned to his predecessor. "I've always wondered why you pushed his promotion through."

A.J. straightened up and looked at the general. "He's on his way to becoming an absolutely brilliant attorney—no matter which side of the fence he sits on. He's developed the same sort of tenacity as both Rabb and MacKenzie—without all the fireworks." He snorted as he remembered the ten years Rabb had been under his command and the nine years MacKenzie had been at headquarters. The General was right—the transfers were long overdue. He turned towards Cresswell. "It might help me answer the question if you tell me what Roberts did to make you think he was a 'loose cannon'."

The general stared at both admirals. "He was accused of attacking a civilian in a shoe store in defense of his brother; the State charges were dismissed but I ordered him to anger management classes. Then, there was an incident in the anger management class and another officer suffered injuries when a chair Roberts was holding made contact with the other O's head." His voice was as dry as the martini he was consuming. "Fortunately, CDR Turner determined Roberts was in no way at fault in that particular instance." Cresswell shrugged his shoulders. "Turner concluded he shouldn't have been in those classes in the first place."

Tom, watching the whole encounter, was secretly amused at A.J.'s behavior. If A.J. had been a cat, the fur would have been fluffed and now he could picture the fur coming down.

"Roberts was," A.J. was gazing into his glass, as if remembering those early years and Tom found his memory taking him back, as well, "a very self-conscious ensign when he first came to headquarters as a legal aide. He was also the picture of the stereotypical 'computer geek'—at times, he acted the dork." He snorted. "A lot of people didn't look below that surface—but Rabb and MacKenzie, who were his mentors, did, and they brought out the best in the man." He turned to the general. "If Bud did anything to make you question either his character and/or his judgment, it's that long dormant 'dork' coming out of him—maybe all the changes brought out the insecurities still lurking below the surface ….also, he's very protective of his brother – their father, a retired Master Chief, was what's now called "abusive." I think Bud's always blamed himself that he couldn't protect Mikey better when they were growing up."

"Apparently, both Rabb and MacKenzie thought enough of his abilities that they both asked him to come with them – he could've been Deputy SJA at COMUSNAVEUR or XO at the JLSO in San Diego," the general mused.

"Well, good for them." A.J. sat up. "So what did he decide?"

The general shrugged his shoulders. "He decided to stay put." He looked at both admirals. "I understand his wife had a lot to do with that decision."

"Why am I not surprised?" A.J. sighed. Then his eyebrows shot up as another question occurred to him. "What's going to happen to Mac, anyway? What's she going to do in London?"

General Cresswell got a look on his face that Tom could only call sly and amused both. He stopped and turned to A.J. "You know, both the Captain and the Colonel grabbed for the coin at the last minute—both trying to be noble and self-sacrificing!" He snorted. "That Marine may be a good Marine – she bested me on the range - but she's no match for THIS Marine in hand-to-hand 'combat'. I got the coin and then reamed both of them a new 'one'—neither was going to resign or retire any time soon without approval." He grinned what Tom thought was a rather "wolfish" grin. "It was the most fun I'd had since I put on my stars!"

Both admirals stared at him and then Tom shook himself and asked, "So, what happened?"

Cresswell just shrugged and smirked. "Well, first I upped the ante – the Marine 0-6 Board had just reported out that afternoon – I told her she was out of uniform. God …that dress she had on …I've never seen such a red face on a Marine. Then, I told them they could talk it over and make a rational decision, leave it up to me, or flip for the locale." He sighed, grimacing a bit, "They insisted on flipping for it … something about leaving it to "fate." Anyway, there was nothing open in London except an 0-3 billet at the Embassy, so I called the Commandant and got MacKenzie into the Corps' continuing education program – she's got 18 months to get a Ph.D. in International Military Law at Oxford. It's a two year program but I told her 18 months max – then they'll both be short-toured. Oh, and I got tough with them, too. Gave them a direct order – have a kid or acquire a kid if they want one in the same timeframe – besides the teen, I mean – you know they took her with them?"

Biff was enjoying himself; he grinned at Tom and A.J.'s expressions of stunned disbelief that he would interfere in subordinates' personal affairs like that. "Look, A.J., you kept them together for nine years and said yourself, you didn't hardly believe they finally got their act together - I handed them orders around the world from each other and it only took them three days."

"Look, why are you so surprised I helped them? A.J., you had 'em nine years …you've gotta know that if they don't mess up they're both looking at their first star in five, maybe six years. They each need a command and a major staff billet first. You watch their careers take off …you'll see." Shrugging, "and as for the kid part, it's just common sense – it's better if the kid's in school when they start down the Flag and General officer path."

Shaking his head and pursing his mouth, A.J. turned back to his drink. "Back to Roberts. I suggest you make good use of the man. In fact," and A.J.'s eyebrows shot up as he glanced at Biff, "If CDR Turner didn't outrank Roberts, Roberts would make a good Chief of Staff. He's always been exceptionally good with crunching the budget figures—he's been very creative in working the budget request numbers to JAG's advantage, and he doesn't mind the tedious hours spent looking through long dry pages." He took another sip and added, "Not to mention he's been very good for the morale at JAG—a pole of stability when things went just a bit crazy, especially the last two or three years I was there."

"Anyway, you force him to transfer when the time comes – Harriet'll just have to live with it – and watch, he'll go all the way too."

The general turned to Tom. "You've been relatively quiet. What do you have to say?"

Tom shrugged his shoulders. "I knew LCDR Roberts when he was a young ensign serving on board a carrier as a PAO. I have to agree with A.J.—he was a bit of a 'dork' back then. I've not had the pleasure of spending much time with him at all since he transferred to headquarters."

General Cresswell gazed into his drink, staring at—Tom wondered just what he was seeing. "I'll take your word for it—although in the last case he went up against Captain Rabb and a young lieutenant I'm hoping will develop into a superior attorney, he 'took' the win." His eyebrows raised. "In a spectacular and subtle fashion, too, I might add." He lifted his drink to his lips and sipped. He further mused, "I initially paired LT Vukovic with COL MacKenzie in hopes he would learn more professional behavior from her. I think I might have been better off pairing him with Rabb instead."

A.J. turned to look at his successor. "Why didn't you? Rabb is an exceptional attorney—when he's not 'flying off the handle'". The last comment was so dry it could have made a lemon pucker, Tom thought.

The General glanced at A.J. "I thought the two were too much alike—alpha male types. I thought COL MacKenzie might smooth out the rough edges." He shrugged his shoulders. "As 'exciting' as your office was, Admiral, I much prefer 'good order and discipline'."

'Ouch!' thought Tom. 'The General was certainly tossing out verbal hand grenades tonight!' Surprisingly, A.J. seemingly didn't take offense. He shrugged. "There are worse things than fireworks in the office." He sipped his own drink and continued, "For one thing, when Rabb and MacKenzie were on a case, either separately or together or in opposition, whether defending or prosecuting, you could be damned sure the truth would eventually come out." He snorted. "Of course, sometimes it was an 'expensive' truth." His eyes got a far-away look. "I remember assigning both of them to what was supposed to be a routine case of 'dereliction of duty'—and it turned out to be another 'budget buster'—but at least the right thing was done." Both of the other men had to lean forward to hear him continue—he was mumbling. "Then there was the lawsuit brought by the Bradenhurst Corporation, a direct result of Rabb's activities, an unauthorized trip to Haiti to bring back a witness, the repair of a courtroom ceiling—although Rabb did make suitable amends for that stunt!" He shook his head and sat his glass down on the bar and physically turned to face the general. "You could do a lot worse than assigning the young lieutenant to Rabb's new office." A.J.'s grin was truly evil, Tom thought. "Rabb would get a good opportunity to see what it's really like to be a commanding officer!"

The general glanced at the retired admiral. "You know, I never thought about that. Maybe I should ship Vukovic over to London for a couple of years of seasoning, instead of letting Turner 'make him or break him'. . ." The General shook his head as if to clear it of cobwebs. "One more question, Admiral. I've no doubts about MacKenzie – I watched her as Chief of Staff, but what kind of CO do you think Rabb will make?"

"Oh-h-h. That's a good one." Tom was startled. It was as if A.J. was shaking off the drunken state he'd been sliding into – now he looked as if he were giving the question serious consideration. "Hm-m-m-m." Then, he sighed. "Rabb's never been a patient man; but, when he became young Ms. Grace's guardian, he seemed to settle down and gain some of that 'virtue'." He took another sip of his half-full glass. Tom decided then and there, it would be the last for A.J. "He doesn't suffer fools gladly." A.J. straightened up. "It depends, I guess, on how many of the lessons I tried to teach him through the years "took" as to how well he does." He shook his head and Tom was reminded of a dog shaking itself after getting wet. "I can't tell whether I held the leash too loosely or too tight, especially in the last three years. Maybe it was a combination of both." Tom was struck by the look of contemplation on A.J.'s face. "Maybe I should have 'reigned' him in a lot earlier than Paraguay…. Biff, I dunno – he definitely doesn't like the meetings, paperwork and bureaucracy that go with being a CO, let along Flag. If he can manage that part of it, he'll do great – he's got all the leadership abilities you could ever want."

Tom glanced at the General, who glanced down at his watch and started. "My God! I didn't know it was getting this late. I should head home." He grumbled. "Hopefully that damned bridal shower is over." He stood up and held out his hand. "It was nice meeting you, Admiral. It's been. . . illuminating, to say the least." As A.J. took the General's hand and shook it, the General turned to Tom, and as soon as his hand was released, offered it to Tom for the same courtesy exchange. "Same to you." He nodded to both men. "Good luck in your retirements." He walked out of McMurphy's into the night, eager to get back home.

The two admirals turned back to the bar. "Well, that was interesting, wasn't it?" Tom asked A.J.

A.J. was fingering his glass and then glanced at his watch. He stood up. "The General was right," he said. "It is getting late." The expression on his face was a lot warmer and brighter than it was when Tom had first encountered him at the Wall. He shook hands with his old friend. "Thanks a lot, Tom. I needed that. Now it's time to let it go. I've gotta learn to live the rest of my life without the constant 'what if's' and self-recriminations. I don't wanna drink myself into the grave. Trouble is, it's easier said than done…. I still have nightmares about 'Nam, I can't imagine hers!"

Boone's voice was calming. "Mac?"

"Yeah. God, Tom, I nearly got her killed."

"A.J., you've gotta let it go. It sounds like she's moved on. You have to, too. Anyway, let's keep in better touch. Give me a call when you get bored. We'll have to see what kind of hell we can raise together!"

A.J. finally laughed, a full-bodied sound that took in his whole body (and a welcome sounds, so far as Boone was concerned) as he put on his jacket. Tom matched his action. "I'll do that. Between an ex-aviator and an ex-SEAL, there should be something we can do to create a ruckus." He grinned. "Retirement shouldn't be boring, right?"

Tom slapped him on the back as they, too, exited the bar. "Right, Admiral." As they walked out into the night, Tom was reminded, strangely enough, of what Army General Douglas MacArthur had said on the occasion of his own retirement in his memorable address to the Congress back so many years ago, "Old soldiers never die—they just fade away." He decided that old admirals shouldn't fade away—there was surely something they could do, even retired, to stir the pot. He made a promise to himself he would follow up with A.J. later on. But until that time, it was indeed time to go home and to bed. He ended up whistling "Anchors Away" as he walked to his car.

FIN.

Author's Notes:

1. Promotions. I've noticed that fans have questioned, on several JAG chat boards and sites, how some fanfiction writers have promoted Mac to Colonel when she doesn't have 20 years active duty. There is no such requirement. Mac was apparently deep selected for promotion to Major shortly before she transferred to JAG HQ in 1997, and we know she was deep selected for LTCOL in1999. Actually, neither she nor Harm had enough time in grade (TIG) for their 1999 promotions – deep select or in zone -- DPB just did it! In 2005, they both had sufficient TIG for selection to CAPT/COL. CO of the Joint Legal Service Office DPB "created" when he was hoping for a Season 11 in San Diego would have been an 0-6 billet – all comparable NLSO and TSO CO billets are 0-6s. Once selected, you'll be promoted on your scheduled effective date of rank the next fiscal year, whether or not your orders are changed.

2. We believe we've met our main goals in Dining Out and Admiral's Mast: a summing up of the significant events that shaped Harm during his 10 years at JAG and A.J. coming to grips with his share of responsibility for what happened in Paraguay. A sequel is not planned. If anyone wants to ship Vic to London for "seasoning" under Harm's leadership, please be our guest!

3. Both halves of McRose – highplainswoman and janlaw – have several WIPs that they plan to complete together and separately. Given the time long-distance collaboration takes, as well as the demands of both family and work life, it'll be a bit.


End file.
